Back in the Game
by usa123
Summary: Tony is called into consult after Barton and Romanov go missing during an op and discovers crucial information that could change the course of the rescue mission. Will he have to rescind Operation Clean Slate in order to save his teammates? No slash.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Spoilers for Iron Man 3.**

* * *

"Did you find the arrangement satisfactory?"

Natasha Romanov pushed a lock of her thick black wig out of her face and squinted through the glasses at the document in front of her. "Looks fine to me," she drawled in a thick Southern accent.

She handed the folder to Clint Barton whose normally spiky hair was plastered flat to his head, with flecks of grey sprinkled throughout. He carefully examined the paperwork one final time before nodding his approval and signing his cover's name with a flourish. He slid the folder down the table, where Natasha uncapped her own pen and wrote her alias on the only empty line.

Epson, the middle-aged man sitting across from them, eagerly took back the document and slid it through an electronic scanning device.

"You may expect your delivery within the week," he said, standing and extending his right hand. "It was a pleasure doing business with you."

Clint and Natasha both stood and shook their mark's hand. Everyone was wearing wide grins as Epson personally escorted them to the front foyer where he handed the contract to the company's secretary before politely excusing himself. Having successfully completed their mission, Barton and Romanov were about to leave when a burly security guard stepped in front of the exit.

"Mr. Kirkpatrick?"

Clint tensed slightly, covering it by an overall shift in his posture. "Yes?"

"I'm afraid there was a problem with the paperwork. If you'll follow me," he motioned back toward the bank of offices.

"Let's just do what he says, honey," Natasha threw herself against her cover husband and wrapped her arm around his. "I just wanna go home."

"Of course, sweetcheeks," Barton tilted his head so it rested on top of hers. He met the security guard's even gaze and nodded his agreement.

The receptionist, who had been not so subtly listening to the entire conversation, hit a button on her desk, allowing them through the opaque door that separated the offices from the foyer. The exchange didn't strike her as unusual so she returned to filing the interoffice memos.

It was only at the end of her shift that she realized she never saw the couple, or the security guard, again.

* * *

Few things changed for Tony Stark after the Mandarin incident. He was still a genius, inventor and all-around badass. He was still dating the most perfect woman in the world. He was still co-CEO of Stark Industries which, by the way, was set to launch the first affordable, clean energy system later this month. He still hung out with the other Avengers and improved their weapons whenever possible. He still tinkered in his lab and occasionally got so caught up in redesigning his new beach house that he forgot to eat or drink. Finally, he still consulted with SHIELD every other Thursday from 11-3 because, let's be honest, he never got up before 10 unless the world was ending and those occasions were few and far between.

There were a few improvements though: shrapnel was no longer crawling toward his heart, his chest no longer ached with the weight of the arc reactor, and he didn't have to worry about always being in the vicinity of an extra reactor in case the current one malfunctioned. Now that he wasn't building suits, he found himself with a plethora of free time that he was determined to put to good use. The first few weeks were spent stabilizing Extremis and, after using it to fix the gaping hole in his chest, he had disabled it in both himself and Pepper so it could never be activated again. Since then, he tried to be a better co-CEO, showing up to at least one board meeting a quarter in a state of relative cleanliness. He still had a slight issue turning in paperwork on time but, when he did hand it in, it was thorough and complete so Pepper agreed to let his tardiness slide.

He'd be lying though if he said it wasn't damn hard watching his former teammates leave for various assignments, knowing he couldn't be out in the field watching their backs.

The first time the Avengers had assembled after the Mandarin, Tony's absence was the subject of many newscasts. The situation had only worsened when Captain America limped up to the press conference table a few hours later, having severely twisted his knee during the battle. It didn't matter that he would be completely healed within the week; the damage had been done. The people were in uproar, not caring if, in fact, Iron Man could have helped or not: they had needed him and he hadn't shown.

More press conferences were held to mitigate the damage but a majority of the city still felt abandoned by their superhero. In fact, the only people who were happy that Iron Man was out of commission (besides Pepper) were the senators who believed the suit had done more damage than good.

"Sir, you have a visitor." JARVIS announced, snapping Tony out of his thoughts.

"I'm busy, dear," he replied, patting the ground beside him in search of his wrench.

While Pepper was out of town presenting the next iteration of the clean energy project to the board, Stark had had his Malibu storage facility emptied and transferred to the Tower. It turned out he had moved quite a few of his collectible cars there in order to make room for his suit showcase. The moment he had spied the still crushed AC Cobra being unloaded, he knew what his next project was going to be. Queuing up his favorite AC/DC playlist, he had lain on a scooter and rolled himself under the hood of his favorite vehicle, determined to remedy the damage he had done three years ago by landing on it with Mark II.

"Mr. Stark," a decidedly un-British voice said from directly next to him.

Tony jerked in surprise, banging his head on the underside of the chassis. Cursing creatively, he slipped out from under the car, scowling and rubbing his forehead.

"Initiate lockdown and get security up here," he ordered his AI. "We've been compromised."

"I do apologize, sir, but I granted Agent Coulson access. He has documents I believe you would be interested in viewing."

Something cold brushed against Tony's shoulder and he glanced sideways to see the newly rebuilt DUM-E offering him an instant ice pack.

"Good boy," Tony patted his robot's arm and pressed the ice pack against his throbbing forehead.

"Mr. Stark," Coulson began again, sitting back on his haunches. He was wearing his customary suit and was carrying a thick file folder under one arm.

"No. It's Saturday," Tony hauled himself to his feet, walked over to his desk and pressed a button. "Happy—"

"Barton and Romanov have been compromised." Coulson tossed the file onto the desk, sending Stark Industries documents flying in all directions.

"Yes, Mr. Stark?" Happy inquired over the intercom.

"False alarm," Tony pulled his finger off the button and gave Coulson his full attention. "Compromised how?"

"They were tasked with infiltrating a suspected terrorist cell. Two days ago. We haven't heard from them since."

"What do you want me to do?"

Phil pointed to the papers spread all over Tony's desk. "This is everything we know about the compound and about the cell. We're hoping you can review it and point out anything we have missed before we send in Captain Rogers' team."

Tony nodded absently while he paged through the file. "Yeah, I'll get right on it. When's the Capsicle leaving?"

"0300. We'd need anything you find an hour before then."

"Okay." Tony dropped into his desk chair and detached the first page of the file. After a moment, he glanced up to see Coulson still standing opposite him. "You found your way in, you can see yourself out."

Phil nodded, an expression similar to disappointment flickering across his face, before he thanked Stark and left.

* * *

By two o'clock, Tony had analyzed every piece of information in the file and, with JARVIS' help, was able to bring to light a few details about the way the structure was organized so as to best approximate where Barton and Romanov would be held. JARVIS had also analyzed aerial footage of the exterior security sweeps and had suggested a more efficient entrance. Stark had given this information to Coulson who immediately handed it off to Steve so the Cap could readjust his strategy.

That should have been the end of the story…yet, Tony couldn't explain the odd churning sensation in his gut. He did his best to ignore it and returned to restoring the Cobra.

Less than ten minutes later, he slid out from under the car and pulled the file off his desk, staring for the umpteenth time at the slightly blurry picture of the assumed entrance to the base. He couldn't explain it but he felt like he was a step behind, like he was missing something that should be painstakingly obvious.

"JARVIS, can we make that any clearer?" Stark held the photo up to the light and scratched at a whitish sunspot to the right of the compound's doorway, approximately two feet off the ground.

The AI didn't respond but, after a moment, a slightly improved, holographic version of the picture appeared in front of Tony's face.

"Not much better is it?" Tony put down the original and squinted at the projection.

"I did not have a lot with which to work."

The inventor spun the picture in a horizontal circle. "Let's try this. Get the lowest angle of aerial footage and overlay. Merge and sharpen."

After a moment, the hologram slipped into better focus.

"May I ask what you're looking for, sir?"

Tony drew a circle around the glare. "We're trying to figure out what that is."

"If I may." The hologram darkened noticeably, then the small area around the white spot was harshly contrasted.

"Not bad, J," Tony put his index fingers and thumbs together and quickly pulled them apart to zoom in on the image. "Now, clean it up using your best approximation algorithm."

"As you wish, sir." After a few moments wait, the white spot faded into a small metal box fixed to the inside of the doorjamb, with a whitish line extending out of its left side.

Tony felt the churning in his gut rev up another notch and his heartbeat raced. "JARVIS is that..."

"I believe it is, sir."

"Get Coulson on the line," he demanded.

"I have already attempted to do so. I cannot get through to either Agent Coulson or Captain Rogers. I can only conjecture they have already taken off."

Tony tilted his head quickly from left to right as he considered his next move. The box on the footage was a home security alarm that he had developed a few years back. The board of SI hadn't been impressed and the project had been shelved. It wasn't particularly difficult to disarm but, if he couldn't get ahold of Cap, his team would be made before they could enter.

Also, and this was the thought that worried Tony the most, if that supposedly rejected invention was present, what else would Rogers be facing? He had built many such toys that SI thought wouldn't amount to anything...

He groaned loudly as he realized what he needed to do.

"JARVIS, book the nicest restaurant in town for tonight. Have Happy buy Pepper flowers—he knows the ones she likes—and maybe a new dress."

"Of course sir. May I inquire as to the occasion?"

"Consider it 12% of an apology for what I'm about to do," Tony replied as he raced out of the lab.

He hurried to his bedroom closet and threw all his shirts to one side. He laid his hand against the back wall of the closet and watched as blue light ran up and down his palm, reading his biometrics. After a moment, a wood panel clicked open, revealing a singular Iron Man suit.

He quickly pulled out his phone and keyed in the appropriate code, causing the suit's reactor to hum to life as its eyes glowed a bright blue. With a groan, the chest plate unhinged and the overlaid metal plates in the legs and arms retracted, leaving just enough space for his body. Without hesitating, Stark stepped into the opening, adrenaline racing through his veins as the suit that wasn't supposed to exist assembled around him.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! The next chapter will be up soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I forgot to disclaim that I don't own the Avengers.**

**Thanks for all the wonderful notifications! I hope you enjoy the update!**

* * *

Steve Rogers hopped out of the quinjet followed by Agents Carmichael, Casey and Walker, the best retrieval experts SHIELD had. Phil Coulson stepped into the open doorway and pointed along the length of the plane. "Half mile that way. Call us when you're on your way back and we'll rendezvous here."

Steve turned and gave Coulson a crisp salute. As he lowered his hand, he heard a faint churning, not dissimilar to sound a fire extinguisher makes when discharged.

Phil immediately grabbed at his earpiece and winced. "What the hell is that?"

Before anyone could answer, a thin white jetstream flashed across the sky. The earsplitting whining culminated in a loud clanking as something lithely landed next to the quinjet, shooting up a large cloud of dirt.

Steve had reflexively yanked his shield in front of him and was ready to throw it when he saw oddly familiar swatches of red and gold in the haze. "Hold your fire," he ordered, in case the newcomer was who he suspected. He and his team waited tensely, weapons held at the ready, as the dust settled.

"Stark, what are you doing here?" Steve questioned with a note of exasperation as the entire Iron Man suit came into view.

"It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, Cap," Tony replied, flipping open his faceplate to reveal his grinning countenance. "I was out for a stroll."

"You were flying, not walking."

"Semantics," Tony waved his gauntlet dismissively at the soldier. Then he turned to face Coulson who was standing in the doorway of the quinjet. "Agent," he greeted with his most winning grin, fully expecting Phil to be startled by the reappearance of the suit.

"Stark," Coulson responded with a curt nod, calmly holding out his hand. Someone inside the plane groaned loudly and slapped a crisp $10 bill into his open palm.

"Told you he'd show," Coulson gloated, pulling out his money clip and sliding the bill into it.

"Dammit Stark," the loser grunted before disappearing in the pilot's quarters.

"I thought you destroyed all your suits," Steve stated as he slung his shield over his shoulder.

"All but one. Just in case."

Rogers considered that for a moment, then nodded. "You did threaten a terrorist."

"Not my finest moment but thanks for bringing it up. I fly all the way out here to give you information that will keep you alive and you remind me that my beach house is sitting at the bottom of the Pacific. What is the world—"

Steve rubbed his bridge of his nose and exhaled heavily. "Look, I didn't mean it like that—"

The frown disappeared off Tony's face in two seconds flat. "I know," he grinned widely. "I was just messing with you. Not about the information that'll keep you alive though. Your guys installed some of my security system prototypes that never made it into production."

"You could have called," Rogers offered sensibly.

Tony lightly smacked his forehead with his palm. "Why didn't I think of that? Oh, right. I did. Your phone was off."

"Ten minutes til go time," Agent Walker announced after glancing at her watch.

"I'm here to help," Stark offered without a beat of sarcasm.

Steve glanced at Coulson, who shrugged. "Carmichael," the soldier motioned to the tallest male agent who immediately stood at attention. "Change of plans. You and Walker hang back with Casey. Keep the guards occupied."

A chorus of "yes, sirs," resounded before Steve turned to face Tony. "You'll come in with me. We grab Barton and Romanov and get out. No detours, no tangents. You copy?"

Stark fought the urge to salute Rogers and simply responded, "Yup."

"Be careful," Coulson called as he pulled in the portable ramp and the quinjet sped away.

* * *

Aided by Stark's new intel, Tony and Steve waited for the guards' current shift to end before sprinting for the back door. Steve pressed his back against the wall and pulled a Colt M1911A1 from a side holster, covering Tony, who bent down and examined the small steel security device.

"We don't have all day," Steve hissed as he glanced at his watch.

"Don't get your star-spangled panties in a twist," Tony fired back. "I have to make sure they didn't change anything." Not seeing any external wires, he popped the lid of the small box. "Looks the same here."

He stood up and carefully lifted the frame off the keypad. "If it really is the one from SI, it's susceptible to the manual override..." He tapped a button on his suit and his gloves retracted, bunching around his wrists. He interlaced his fingers and shoved them away from his body, palms out, to crack his knuckles. Then, he reached into the wall and began stripping wires. "…part of the reason it never made it to production."

"Starting perimeter sweep," Walker said over the comms. "You've got about five minutes before he hits your position."

"Stark?" Steve questioned, peering around the corner.

"I heard 'em. Just—" At that moment, the door clicked open. Steve reached for the handle but Tony stuck out his arm, keeping the Captain from stepping closer.

"This is why you brought me along." He stepped next to the box and broke the beam that had been visible in the security photograph. Without moving that leg, he reached underneath the keypad and touched two wires together again. He paused, cocking his head as if waiting for alarms to sound. When they didn't, he stood and dusted off his hands before the metal gloves quickly closed around them again.

"They didn't change a thing. After you," he quipped as he pushed the door open.

"I can see why that never caught on," Steve returned, secretly glad he hadn't had to deal with that overly complicated alarm system by himself. He stepped into the compound, his gun moving left and right as he cleared the room. He made a quick motion with his left hand that Tony recognized as an "all clear."

"It's called home security for a reason," Stark retorted, following Steve into the building, his hand repulsors glowing softly. "If everyone could do it, your house wouldn't be very safe."

Rogers ignored him and whispered into the comms, "We're in."

He motioned with his head and Tony closed the door to the outside, leaving them in a partially-filled storage room. As Carmichael announced the guard's newest positions, Steve quickly consulted the map in his belt. "Intel indicates they're being held here," he stabbed his index at a room three corridors over. "Two guards outside the door and another four or five in the hallways. This is a snatch 'n' grab so only shoot if necessary. A second team is coming in after we're clear so we don't want to make this a bloodbath unless we have to."

"Aye aye Captain," Stark quietly affirmed. He checked the interior door jamb for more alarms and, when he found none, cracked open the door. His breath caught in his throat as he spied a man clad entirely in black and carrying a machine gun standing not six feet away.

"Cap," he breathed, shifting backwards so Rogers could take a look.

"Let's see if he moves. We don't want to blow our cover so early."

"Roger that." Tony paused as he realized what he had just said. "That's genius! I can't believe I never thought of that before."

"Not the time," Steve hissed but it was too late. The guard must have heard Tony's hushed exclamation for he glanced left, gun at the ready, and spotted the open door. As he tilted his head to speak into the walkie clipped to his shoulder, Stark threw open the door and blasted the man with his repulsor.

"What did I say about avoiding bloodshed?" Steve snapped as he stepped into the hallway, shield held protectively in front of him.

"Don't have an aneurysm, gramps. They're set to stun."

"What the hell is going on in there?" Casey bellowed into the comms.

"Stark took out the first guard," Steve replied, his eyes flickering from left to right. He fell silent to listen for oncoming footsteps. "We might still be all right."

Then he heard shouting echoing from around the far corner. "Nope. We've been made. Stark!" he took off running toward the room where Barton and Romanov were being held.

"Right behind you," Tony shouted as he sprinted down the hallway after the soldier.

By the time they had made it to their destination, six guard were lying unconscious in the hallway, either from bullets that had ricocheted off Steve's shield or stun blasts from the Iron Man armor. Stark stepped over the bodies of the two guards that were positioned outside Barton and Romanov's room and quickly disarmed the security system around the door. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder and saw Rogers nod grimly before they rushed into the room.

It took Steve's eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting but Stark, with the suit's help, was instantly able to see Clint and Natasha strapped to two tables in the center of the room. Neither so much as twitched in response to the other Avengers' arrival.

Stark and Rogers crossed the room in record time. Steve quickly ripped through the straps holding Natasha to the table and gently pulled the duct tape off her mouth. After yanking off his gloves, he pressed two fingers to the side of her throat.

"She's still breathing," he announced, feeling the slow throb of her carotid. He exhaled softly and turned to evaluating the Widow's injuries, taking in the dark bruise that spreading from her jaw to cheekbone and a deep gash just under her hairline.

He heard a stifled gasp and turned to see Stark freeing Barton. "How is he?"

"He doesn't sound great," Tony reported, concern creeping into his tone.

Steve leaned over and, before he could pose his next question, he heard the wheezing and uneven gasps that were passing for Clint's breaths. "He has fluid in his lungs," he stated, remembering being in the same position as a child when he had contracted pneumonia and been forced to fight for each breath.

Stark glanced around the room and saw a mostly empty 3-gallon water cooler jug sitting in the far corner, its mouth covered with a sopping wet cloth. His stomach clenched painfully as he glanced downward and noticed a large puddle surrounding the table to which Clint was strapped. A combination of sharp inhales and curses filtered through the line and Tony bit down hard on his bottom lip as a series of unwelcome images flashed in front of his eyes: Afghanistan, the cave, the car battery, Yinsen.

He took in a shuddering breath and forced himself to ignore the memories, to lock them away until the job was over.

"Your men wanted information," he announced shakily, though JARVIS filtered out the hesitation before passing his sentence through the comms.

"We need to get them out of here," Steve said, his tone also devoid of emotion, though Tony saw the vein in his jaw throbbing with barely contained rage. Rogers slung his shield onto his back, slipped one arm under Natasha's shoulders and another under her knees, lifting her bridal style.

Stark had planned on throwing Clint over his shoulder but, after learning what the archer had endured, he knew that having Barton's head below his lungs was not ideal. Sighing heavily, he picked up Clint in the same fashion Steve was carrying Natasha, doing his best to keep him as upright as possible.

"We're on our way out," Steve said into the comms, his voice deceptively calm.

They stepped into the hallway after making sure it was clear and hurried toward the back entrance. They had only moved about fifty feet when Tony thought he heard a soft clicking. The sound echoed through the empty hallway making it difficult for Stark to determine its origin.

JARVIS, however, didn't have that problem. The HUD flashed brightly, zooming in on a greyish object that was flying in their direction. Or, more accurately, Steve and Natasha's direction. There wasn't any time to shout or to tell Rogers to move. If he wanted to help them, he had to act. Now.

Tony dropped Barton on a thick pile of dirt, hoping it would be soft enough to break the archer's fall, and launched himself at the other two Avengers.

Time seemed to slow down as he flew through the air: he was able to see Steve shift Natasha into his right arm and reach back for his shield but Tony knew Rogers' effort was too little, too late.

Warnings flashed more intensely in his HUD as the object grew larger and larger.

Then, he crashed into Rogers and Romanov, sending the three of them hurtling along the hallway.

In that same moment, Tony felt the projectile smash into his suit with bone-crushing force. He was unconscious before he hit the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve heard the soft click and froze instinctually, thinking he had stepped on a pressure plate. After a second, he realized that the sound had not come from beneath him but from further down the hall. He had just focused on the metal projectile and was in the process of reaching for his shield when something hard smacked into him with the force of a semi-truck. He pitched forward, tangled in a mess of red and gold limbs, barely able to keep his grip on Natasha.

He landed roughly, the edges of his shield biting into his back as he twisted to further protect the unconscious Widow from the weight of the suit. White fireworks danced in Steve's vision and his side burned from the impact but he rolled out from underneath the others and hauled himself to his knees. He yanked his shield in front of his chest and glanced around wildly, just managing to see a man slump over a crossbow at the far end of the hall, a feral, bloody smile contrasting his wide and lifeless eyes.

"Stark?" he called softly, his eyes not leaving the end of the hallway.

There was no response.

"Tony!" he hissed in a more demanding tone.

When the inventor didn't respond for the second time, Steve drove his shield into the dirt, forming a temporary barrier between his team and the men lying in the far hall, then rolled the suit onto its back. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the soft blue light emanating from the center of its chest. His reprieve was shortlived, however, as his attention was drawn to a deep crater in the side of the suit, directly under the arm joint.

"Stark's hit," Steve breathed into the comms.

"How bad?"

The soldier didn't immediately respond as he was carefully examining the site. The projectile had hit with such speed that it had forced up the edge of one of the interlocking strips of metal. Seeing that it was now only connected to the rest of the suit by one far corner, Rogers gingerly detached it, knowing that it would allow him to further inspect Tony's side.

He took a deep breath then reached into the newly formed hole, his fingers ghosting over Tony's undersuit. He was unable to find any tears in the reinforced fabric and, though he didn't really have the space to check for broken ribs, he hadn't been able to feel anything move under his touch.

"Just the suit. He's not conscious though," Steve reported as he withdrew his hand from the armor.

"I'm sending in Bravo team now," Coulson replied, his voice tense and strained.

Rogers knew it would take them at least ten minutes to find their position and there was no way he, even with his enhanced strength, could carry two humans and an Iron Man suit across the compound without attracting more attention. Until backup arrived, he resigned himself to protecting his unconscious teammates from a second attack. He alternated between scanning the hallway, checking his teammates' vitals and listening to the traffic on the comms. Even though he had chosen not to move Hawkeye, knowing that the archer, who was propped against the wall closest to the hallway, was fairly well protected, Steve was still carefully monitoring Clint's breathing, painfully aware of how ragged and quick his breaths were becoming.

He had just finished taking the Widow's pulse for the third time when the armor jerked wildly and released a low groan.

"I can't believe I willingly came back for this," Tony groused, raising himself onto his elbows.

"Don't move!" Steve ordered, placing his hand on the shoulder of the suit, keeping Tony from doing further damage. "You could have broken ribs."

"JARVIS disagrees," Tony shrugged off Steve's grip and forced himself into a sitting position, choosing to ignore his AI's statement that there was a 40% chance he had a concussion based on the speed at which his forehead had collided with the helmet. "What the hell was that, anyway?"

Steve picked up the circular projectile that had dropped to the ground when Tony shifted and showed it to his teammate.

"J, what metal is that?" Steve heard Tony ask while he scanned the room for the umpteenth time. "Well clearly it's stronger than we thought. Sync with the mainframe. I'll deal with it later." Then, his suit turned toward Steve. "How long was I out?"

"Six minutes."

Tony nodded, then glanced between Barton and Romanov. "Any changes?"

"None. For better or worse."

"What's going on?" Coulson questioned hurriedly.

"Stark's conscious." Steve turned back to the inventor. "Can you walk?"

The suit's eyes narrowed and Steve heard mild grumbling filtering through the face slit. "Of course I can walk," Tony finally replied, somewhat shakily hoisting himself to his feet. He lumbered over to Barton and carefully picked him up, leaning the archer's head against his shoulder, while Steve slung his shield onto his back before carefully lifting Natasha.

"We're on our way out," Rogers stated into the comms as he followed Tony to the exit.

* * *

_Three hours later_

"ANTHONY STARK!"

All the color drained out of Tony's face as he recognized his girlfriend's, Pepper Potts', voice. She was storming toward him, heels clicking angrily against the tile.

He rose from his waiting room seat and hurried to meet her, an overly large, hopefully placating, smile on his face. "Pepper, I can explain—"

She held up her hand, her eyes full of concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Tony assured her. "Just a few bruises—"

"'Bruises' bruises or 'more serious injuries that will one day be bruises but I don't want to tell Pepper about them until they're healed' bruises?"

"'Bruises' bruises. Not even a broken rib…Hey!" he yelped as Pepper gently pressed the tender flesh over his temple.

"Tony, that looks serious."

Stark batted her hand away. "It's not. I don't even have a concussion. You can ask Dr….WhatsHisName."

His reassurances fell on deaf ears as Pepper continued to stare at him warily. Stark sighed heavily then held up three fingers in the Boy Scouts' salute. "I solemnly swear I received no serious injuries. The suit absorbed most of the impact."

Pepper locked gazes with him for another moment before nodding slowly. "That's good to hear," she responded, relief flashing across her face.

Exactly five seconds later, her peaceful expression contorted into one of anger and frustration. "What the hell were you thinking?" she shouted, splaying her hands at shoulder height.

Tony stepped closer to her, his own hands spread wide to show he meant no ill will. "If you would just give me a chance—"

"—Running off like that while I was gone—"

"—I wasn't planning on it but Coulson stopped by—"

"—I thought after Christmas that you gave up all that—"

"—and Romanov and Barton hadn't checked in—"

"—with Operation Clean Slate and Extremis—I really thought it was all over—"

"—and the analysts missed something, Pep. I couldn't let Rogers—"

The mention of Captain America seemed to snap Pepper out of her rant. "Rogers? Steve was in on all this?" she questioned, her face practically begging him to lie to her so she'd have an excuse to force some sense into him.

Tony hesitated and carefully considered his next words. "Not until I showed up."

"You _showed up?_" Pepper's hands curled into tight fists, her nails digging harsh red crescents into her palms. "You _willingly _went? After everything you promised?"

"It wasn't like that Pep. Please let me expl—"

"I think your actions have done a damn good job of explaining already. It wasn't bad enough I had to spend my day around a group of misogynistic board members but then I get home to find a dress and the roses—"

"Did you like the roses?"

Pepper blinked. "What?"

"Did you. Like. The roses?" Tony repeated slowly, pausing between each word.

"They're beautiful but that's not the point." She exhaled loudly and massaged her forehead for a second. "You still have a suit, Tony."

After weighing the odds and deciding physical harm was unlikely, Stark stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his girlfriend, pulling her close. "For protection only. My resignation wasn't exactly low-key. I had to make sure we would be safe from whomever and whatever."

"You said that about the other suits," she protested but Tony felt her relax slightly into his embrace.

"This one's different. No remote controller, no subdermal implants, no ability to split into its separate pieces. It can't fold into a briefcase or assemble with the wristbands. It's just there in case we needed it."

"If it's worth anything, Miss Potts..." Pepper raised her head to see Steve Rogers sitting in the waiting room less than ten feet away. He glanced guiltily over the top of the newspaper he had been reading in what she knew was an attempt to not to eavesdrop on their conversation. "He saved my life."

Pepper quietly absorbed that information. "It's worth a lot," she said after a moment. "Thank you for letting me know, Steve."

She rested her head against the side of Tony's neck and sighed deeply, letting out all her pent-up anger in that single breath. As much as she wanted to be angry, it appeared Tony had done what he had done for altruistic means. "Are Clint and Natasha going to be alright?"

"We haven't heard yet," he answered honestly, "but Natasha was much better off."

Pepper nodded solemnly. "I think you'd better tell me the whole story."

* * *

_There was someone in her room_.

Natasha jerked upright as she sensed another person within five yards of her current position. She reached for her sidearm and swore as her hand brushed against empty air.

"Natasha, please, calm down," a familiar voice said.

For reasons unknown to her, the voice had the desired calming effect. Her hand still positioned over her imaginary holster, she slowly opened her eyes to see Coulson sitting in the chair next to her…hospital bed? As soon as her sluggish brain made that connection, the harsh smell of antiseptic forced its way into her mouth and nose; she mentally berated herself for not ascertaining her surroundings sooner.

Still semi-conscious, she stared blearily at her handler, trying to remember how she had gotten here.

"Clint!" She shot into a sitting position, now fully alert, as she remembered their mission. She threw off her sheets, grimacing as the motion stretched some unyielding skin in her upper right biceps. "Where is he? How's he doing?"

"Romanov! Don't even think about leaving that hospital bed," Coulson warned. He was on his feet in a second, hurrying to the other side of the bed and placing his hands on Natasha's shoulders to keep her from standing.

"I'm fine," she spat, locking gazes with the man who was keeping her from seeing her partner. She could have shoved his hands away, but she had too much respect for him. He had literally saved her life when she had wanted to defect and she still had to repay the favor. "That…" she continued for a few moments with words Coulson was fairly sure were strong, multilingual synonyms for 'idiot', "didn't even let them touch me."

"The nursing staff begs to differ. You were shot," he motioned toward her upper arm with his elbow.

"It was only a graze," Natasha slid her hands under Coulson's and lifted them off her shoulders. "I need to see Clint."

She slid to one side and carefully stood, wobbling only a slight bit.

"You can't," Coulson reached out and grasped her elbow, helping her remain upright. "The doctors are still with him."

"What have they said?" she demanded.

"Nothing—You know I wouldn't keep anything from you," Coulson added when she stared at him in disbelief. "So, until we know more, I'm ordering you to get back in that bed."

Natasha looked like she was still going to argue. "It's not up for discussion," Phil replied with finality.

"Fine," she spat, slowly lowering herself back onto the rock-like mattress. "But only until the next nurse arrives to convince you that I'm—"

"Say 'fine' one more time and I'll make sure you're on light duty for the rest of the month."

"—healing quickly," Natasha recovered, making a face at her handler.

Coulson's phone chirped and he glanced at it, scowling as the message danced across the screen.

"What's going on?"

Phil cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I know you've just been through quite an ordeal but I need to—"

"Ask me what happened. I know." Romanov took a deep breath and waited until Coulson had sat in his chair and started the recording app on his phone before beginning. "The op was going fine. We convinced Epson to sign the papers and had arranged the delivery for the end of the week. We had almost made it out when we were stopped by a security guard. He said there was something wrong with the paperwork. We were suspicious, sure, but we couldn't do anything that would compromise our covers, so we went back into the offices."

Coulson sat silently while she told him about being lead back into the conference room, which was now occupied by seven ex-Marines with semi-automatics; about Epson wanting to know who they were, what they were after, how they found their base; about playing their cover story for all it was worth but still not being able to convince him that they were the innocent couple they were claiming to be. When they realized that they wouldn't be able to talk their way out of it, she and Barton had tried to escape, but they were too far outnumbered. In the middle of the fight, Natasha had seen one of the guards hit Barton over the head. Not long after that, she had gotten shot. When her vision cleared, they had a gun pressed against his head and were repeatedly asking her if her resistance was worth his life.

Her story was interrupted then by a nurse determined to check on her patient, despite Coulson's insistence that they were in the middle of a deposition. Luckily, the woman knew better than to fill the room with empty platitudes like how lucky Natasha was that she was alive—she had been working at SHIELD far too long for that—and was able to finish the examination in a few short minutes. She told them to page the doctor when they were finished with her statement so he could clear her for release.

Natasha waited until the woman had pulled the door closed before continuing, "They asked the same questions over and over. Barton kept their attention focused on him, so I could work on getting free. Then one of the guards got a call. He didn't say anything but it changed the pace of the interrogation. When Barton refused to tell them what they wanted to know even after…" she swallowed hard, tamping down on the emotions that were threatening to surface as she was forced to remember what her partner had been through. "They told us things would be different the next day, that I would be put through the same treatment unless one of us started telling the truth. Next thing I knew, I was waking up here.

"We only interacted with four of them but I had the sense there were more, judging by the number of footfalls we heard going by the door. If you get me a pen, I can write down their descriptions, maybe you'll be able to—"

"No need," Coulson interrupted, "Stark and Rogers neutralized most of them, getting to you. The remaining few engaged Casey's team in a firefight. Walker took a bullet in the leg—she's still in surgery but the prognosis is good. You'll be happy to know the perps didn't fare so well: we only were able to bring three of them in alive. One already turned on his boss in exchange for protection so we should have enough to put Epson away for life. Grimes' team is bringing him into custody as we speak."

The Widow opened her mouth to interject but Phil cut her off. "You and Barton get first crack at them when he's released, I know. They're in solitary for the moment with a strict no-contact order."

Natasha nodded gratefully, her mind already racing with means of extracting the information SHIELD wanted, should the men choose to not be forthcoming.

Coulson's phone buzzed again and he made a face upon seeing the Caller ID. "It's Director Fury. Just give me a minute," he promised as he strode out of the room.

Once the door slipped closed, Natasha slowly kicked her legs over the side of the bed and stood without too much difficulty. She tiptoed over to the door and silently inched it open until she was able to peer into the hallway. Coulson was standing at the far end of the corridor with his back to her, gesticulating wildly as he conversed with his boss.

She watched him for a second more to ensure he wouldn't turn back around, then hurried out of the hospital room, in search of someone with information about her partner.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!**


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Tony had finished recounting his weekend, Pepper was leaning against his chest, her feet tucked under her and her heels long since abandoned. She sat quietly, playing with the shrapnel necklace he had given her for Christmas.

"Two days…" she murmured, shaking her head in disbelief. "I leave you alone for two days and look what happens."

"It's not like I kidnapped them myself," Tony contested hotly.

Pepper reached up and rested her hand against the side of his face. "I know. It's just a lot to take in."

"This can't really be worse than the first time you found out I had a suit, or that the palladium was killing me, or that girl from Vanity Fair—"

Pepper's index finger slid over his lips, forcing him to be silent. "Let's not finish that list."

Tony nodded in agreement and gently kissed his girlfriend's finger. He heard a soft click and glanced over his shoulder to see Steve silently stepping back into the room, having left not long after Stark had begun his tale.

"You're as subtle as a purple elephant," Tony called, staring pointedly at the soldier, who was now hovering in the doorway.

"I didn't want to interrupt."

"Well, it's too late for that now." Tony winced as Pepper swatted his arm, none too gently.

"I need to speak with you for a moment…If that's alright, Miss Potts," the soldier quickly added.

"Of course," Pepper straightened up so Tony could stand. "Try to return him in one piece though. We're not finished discussing his actions today."

Panic flashed over Tony's face, causing Steve to grin slightly. "I promise, Miss Potts. I just need to clarify a few details for Agent Sitwell."

Tony rose and crossed the room in a few large strides. "Whaddya want to know?" he asked as soon as the door connecting the hallway to the waiting room had closed.

"It's about your tech."

Tony's stomach clenched and his heart raced. "They found more of it?" he ground out.

"No, actually. The technicians 'tore the compound down to the studs'—their words, not mine," he clarified when Stark shot him a curious glance. "That's why we're wondering what you thought and if..."

"If there's more out there." Tony ran a hand through his hair and fell silent. "The alarm system's old. I created it back in '07. I already went through the minutes from the board meetings that year and it wasn't discussed until '08, while I was…away." He cleared his throat before continuing, "A lot happened those three months. I thought I'd destroyed everything he'd stolen, even the damn paralyzer..."

"It may be an isolated incident," Steve quickly offered his reassurance upon seeing the dark look on Stark's face. "Especially if this is the first you and SHIELD have heard of anything like it."

Tony nodded absently as he pulled his phone from his pocket and typed a few rapid commands. "I don't have access to my private servers from here but I'll personally check both them and The Graveyard as soon as I get back to the Tower." He continued tapping on his phone for another moment, then asked, "That all, Cap?"

"No," Steve's tone softened and he shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I just wanted to say that I really appreciate what you did today, pinch hitting for us and all. I hope you're not in too much trouble with Miss Potts because of it."

"Pepper will be Pepper. She worries too much for her own good. _But_, thanks to you, she seems to have come to terms with the idea that I meant well, so I just need to find a way to make it up to her."

"Oh," Steve nodded slowly, even though he wasn't completely satisfied with that response. "She sounds like an amazing woman," he added with a touch of sadness.

"You have no idea," Tony clapped Rogers on the shoulder before walking back into the waiting room and quickly resuming his place next to Pepper. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Situating himself at the end of the row, Steve snapped open a second newspaper to pass the time while he, Tony and Pepper waited for news about their teammates.

* * *

Fifty-six minutes later (not that Tony was counting), a man dressed in a white labcoat, wearing a badge that read Dr. Jamison, entered the waiting room.

"How are Agents Barton and Romanov?" Steve questioned, quickly folding the newspaper and rising to his feet. He winced as the quick motion pulled on his stiff torso and fervently hoped neither Stark nor Pepper had seen it.

The knowing glance Tony was shooting him told him otherwise.

"I'm not at liberty to say as none of you are listed as next of kin. I _am _allowed to tell you that Agents Barton and Romanov are residing in room 6," Jamison stated. "You may see them now if you wish." He continued through the room at a quick pace, tipping his head politely at Pepper as he passed.

Tony rose, then extended his hand to his girlfriend, who grasped it and used it for balance while she slipped into her heels. When she looked up, Steve had already disappeared into the hallway.

"Is he alright?" Pepper asked Tony as they followed the soldier at a less-than-breakneck pace.

"Why are you asking me? I'm not his keeper." Pepper elbowed Tony sharply and the inventor doubled over, grabbing his previously uninjured side. She fixed him with a sharp glare and he exhaled loudly before amending, "He landed on his shield. Didn't even break the skin."

"Much better," Pepper dragged the tip of her index finger down the side of Tony's face as he continued to remain folded in half, then tapped the underside of his chin.

By the time they arrived at room 6, Steve had just knocked and, when he received no answer, poked his head in. Clint was sitting practically upright in bed, propped up by more pillows than the boy from the '40s had ever seen in one place. The archer was still using an oxygen mask but the lack of other monitoring equipment was promising. Though a second bed was present on the other side of the room, its sheets crumpled and its pillow indented, Natasha was nowhere in sight.

Rogers held open the door for Pepper and, by extension, Tony before entering himself. There was only one folding chair so Tony and Steve offered it to Pepper and leaned against the wall. The three of them slipped into a respectful silence as they listening to Clint's raspy, uneven breathing.

A few moments later, Natasha walked into the room, her upper arm heavily bandaged. A butterfly bandage was situated over her temple and she carried a plastic-wrapped package in one hand. Without saying anything, she walked over the table that protruded over Clint's legs and placed the package on it, allowing Tony to identify it as a six-pack of frosted doughnuts. He wanted to question the gift but the tense set to Natasha's shoulders told him it wasn't a good time.

"Here, Natasha." Pepper noticed the circle of blood in the center of the white bandage and quickly evacuated the chair, motioning for her friend to take it.

The Widow looked like she was going to object but Pepper fixed her with a stern glance. After a second, Romanov shrugged and perched lithely on the edge of it.

"How are you?" Pepper asked, cutting off Steve, who had been primed to ask the same question.

"I've been better," Natasha answered honestly, mindful of Coulson's threat. She shifted in the plastic chair so she could see Clint out of her periphery, running her eyes over his entire body, cataloging his visible injuries.

"What about Barton?" Steve questioned.

"He's idiotic, chauvinistic and completely unaware of his own limitations," Natasha recited, her eyes glowing. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly between her clenched teeth before continuing more seriously. "According to the nurse I cornered, he inhaled enough water to fill a pool but his body is absorbing it quickly. They said he should make a full recovery."

"That's the best news I've heard all day," Pepper sighed, leaning against the wall in relief.

"That's not saying much, now, is it?"

The corner of Pepper's mouth lifted into a microscopic grin. "No, I guess not."

Silence again fell on the room as the team focused on the white puffs fogging Clint's oxygen mask.

"I heard you lost consciousness," Natasha spoke up, fixing Stark with a questioning glance.

He knew better than to lie with Pepper standing so close. "Banged my head against the suit. Don't even have a concussion."

"And you Rogers?"

The soldier shook his head, the motion ruffling his normally rigid hairstyle. "I'm fi—"

As if on cue, the door flew open and Coulson stepped back into the room. "I don't think that word means what you all seem to think it means," he recited solemnly as he tipped his head in Pepper's direction. Judging by the way Natasha relaxed ever so slightly, his well-timed quip had brought a small bit of much needed levity to the grave atmosphere in the room.

"We learned from the best," Natasha responded, her face the picture of innocence. She allowed the expression to reside for a moment longer before sobering up and turning back toward Steve. "I'm waiting."

"No injuries to report."

She nodded. "That's good to hear. Clint and I...we owe you one."

"You don't owe us anything," Steve replied, well aware of how the mentality of 'evening the score' had caused him to lose some good soldiers far too early.

Natasha nodded absently and outwardly returned her focus to her partner. Internally though, she was shoving over her ledger, making room to expand the tiny column of people to which she felt indebted, and added two names to the list.

"Do you remember the conversation we had earlier?" Coulson questioned when the lines of concentration on her face evened out.

Again, she she opened her mouth to argue but her handler cut her off. "You're just as close to Barton over there as you are here," Coulson replied, tilting his head at the adjacent hospital bed.

Scowling, she walked over to the second bed, sat on the very edge, and stared at him defiantly.

Coulson groaned. "That's close enough. Now rest."

The conversation continued, Natasha and Steve exchanging information about the op, while Coulson flipped through Clint's file, taking in all the details for himself. He had just closed the file when his phone chimed. "You've got to be kidding me," he exhaled loudly and checked the caller ID. "It's a conference call," he announced, thumbing the 'Accept' button and walking toward the door. He made a non-committal sound before placing his hand over the mouthpiece and whispering, "This might take a while. Come find me when he wakes up?"

"You know we will," Natasha promised, shifting her gaze back to her injured teammate, hoping he would wake soon.

* * *

Hours later, Clint stiffened as his body was wracked with a wet cough. Natasha was on her feet instantly, grabbing her partner's hand and rubbing his shoulder reassuringly. Tony and Steve were also moving, poking the nurses' call button in unison.

As Barton's coughs subsided, he opened one eye lazily, spying the doughnuts on his tray table. "You remembered," he rasped, searching the room for Natasha.

"If you were injured less frequently on missions, I might have a chance to forget," she retorted but her warm smile belied her harsh tone.

"That's never my fault…and you know it," Clint croaked.

Natasha arched an eyebrow challengingly but said nothing. The staff had brought in more chairs during the night but Coulson's presence had prevented her from sitting in any of them. Since he was currently consulting with Agent Grimes, she felt safe kicking her leg back, hooking her foot around the chair leg, and pulling it closer to the bed.

In those moments, Clint realized there were others in the room. "Hey," he shot the room a half-grin, followed by a thick cough. "What are all of you doing here?"

"Just saving your ass," Tony replied. "Again."

Clint glanced at Natasha who nodded. He groaned and buried his head in his hands. "You still have a suit," he moaned.

Tony made a face. "I don't understand why everyone so upset about that."

"You just cost me…twenty dollars," the archer scowled.

"You bet on whether Tony destroyed all his suits?" Pepper asked, incredulously.

"Largest pool there's been since Coulson told us he was going to ask Steve to sign his trading cards," Romanov answered.

"I should get a cut of the action," Tony began before he was silenced by Pepper's sharp glare. "What? It's my suit!"

Before Pepper could respond, a petite nurse hurried into the room. "You're awake, Agent Barton," she stated as she picked up his chart and paged through it.

"A real sharp cookie this one is," Clint muttered to Natasha, who fought to keep her expression blank.

The nurse frowned. "I take it you're feeling better."

"Two for two."

"I'll go get the doctor," she replied, unphased.

"So does that mean you're back?" Clint rasped as she left the room.

Tony looked conflicted. His mouth opened and closed a few times without any sound coming out. "No," he decided, remembering his promise to Pepper. "This was a one-time thing."

Pepper exhaled loudly before interrupting, "No. It's not."

All eyes turned to the co-CEO of Stark Industries while Tony eloquently stuttered out a "What?"

Pepper stood and walked over to her boyfriend. "You tried, Tony. I saw that. But you just haven't been the same. Don't get me wrong—I love coming home and finding you there, not having to worry about you on missions but…I can tell there's something missing," she held up her hand as Tony began to protest. "Don't argue with me. You've done a great job _trying_ but I can see it's just not who you are."

"So you mean—"

"If you want to, you can rejoin the Avengers." Pepper tapped the center of his chest, where the reactor used to be. "As long as you never forget there's more to you than just the suit."

Tony pulled her into a tight hug, burying his head in her shoulder. "Thank you," he whispered, pressing his hands to the side of her face and kissing her tenderly. They broke apart when they heard Clint clear his throat loudly.

Wrapping his arm around Pepper, he turned to Steve. "Do you think we could arrange some sort of every-other-mission deal? I finally have a good thing going," he tilted his head so it rested against Pepper's, "and I really don't want to mess it up."

"I'm sure we can work something out," he said, a wide and genuine smile on his face as he extended his hand.

"This is gonna be fun," Clint cheered but was quickly overtaken by another coughing fit.

"Only after you get a clean bill of health," Steve cut in, ever the voice of reason. "And all that talking you've been doing isn't helping your lungs."

Clint opened his mouth to argue but Steve shot him a knowing look, schooling his features into a Captain America-esque expression to make sure his words were being heard clearly.

"Yes, mom," Clint glowered and petulantly leaned back into his pillows.

Just then, Doctor Jamison stepped into the room and, finding it full, declared that the current occupants were free to return later, but that they had to leave while he examined Agent Barton.

"I need a moment," Natasha announced after everyone else had left. Jamison's eyes widened slightly and he busied himself in the far corner with the medical supplies.

"How are you doing?" she asked her partner in a soft voice.

"I'll be fine…Tasha," Clint affirmed, his gaze almost deadly.

"Don't let Coulson catch you saying that."

"It's nothing I can't…handle," he coughed loudly, lines of pain tightening around his eyes.

"Don't be stupid enough to think you're doing this alone. You're staying at my place for the next week—it's my place or Coulson's," she amended when he moved to interject, her eyes glinting evilly as his widened to the size of saucers.

"Yours is...great," Clint croaked.

"That's what I thought." Natasha took a deep breath and patted the back of his hand. "Before I get kicked out," she began, her voice dangerously low, "I appreciate what you did but if you ever do something that stupid again, I will…" she leaned forward so her mouth was inches away from Clint's ear and continued in a whisper. Thirty seconds later, she tapped his cheek twice and pulled away. "We clear?"

Clint gulped audibly. "Copy that, Agent Romanov."

Natasha's harsh expression softened and she slipped the package of doughnuts she had palmed before Jamison arrived into Clint's hand. The archer immediately slid the package under his pillow while Jamison's back was still tuned. "We have a lot of bets to collect," she stated nonchalantly as she headed for the door.

While her words may have seemed indifferent to others, Clint had worked with Natasha long enough to know that her statement was a thinly veiled wish that he was well enough to be released. "And here I thought you didn't care," he deadpanned, a dreamy smile flitting across his face as he recalled the amount of cash that had been wagered.

"Don't tell anyone," Natasha fired back as she stepped out of the room, on her way to search for Coulson to tell him the good news. "It'll ruin my reputation."

* * *

Although Clint was quickly recovering, by the time midnight rolled around, he was still not well enough to be discharged. The SHIELD base was within driving range of the nearest town but the agents knew better than to try to convince the Avengers to leave their teammate. When he realized they would be having company for the night, Agent Sitwell had quickly acquired rooms for Natasha and Steve, as well as a long-term stay bunk for the Tony and Pepper, since those were the most spacious. What he failed to mention that even those were little more than a bedroom and a small front room with barely enough room for the couch and laptop table.

Tony and Pepper had insisted these extra amenities were completely unnecessary as they would spend the night here, then return to Manhattan the following evening, assuming Clint's condition continued to improve. As 3:47 AM rolled around, however, and he sat on the couch nursing a small vial of scotch he'd found buried in a cabinet, Tony was very grateful Sitwell had found a way to procure this room for them.

"Well, you haven't had a nightmare like that in a while." He barely resisted the urge to jump at the sound of Pepper's voice. She leaned her head against the doorway and pulled her robe more tightly around her, shielding herself from the cool air streaming out of the vents. "Three or four years, in fact."

"It's been a long day," Tony reached over and patting the empty couch cushion next to him.

"I've gathered," Pepper lowered herself into the seat and rested her head on his shoulder. She shook her head at the sealed mini-bottle he offered her. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Nope."

She glanced over at him, her expression filled with concern. "Tony…"

"I can't Pep," he popped the seal, tilted the bottle and downed half of it. "It's over. It's in the past. No one else needs to know."

Pepper reached out and laid her hand over his, rubbing small circles over the back of his hand with her thumb. "You shouldn't have to carry that all by yourself," she whispered.

"Maybe that's true," Tony conceded, finishing off his drink and pushing the small bottle away from him. "But the person I share it with—it won't ever be you."

She blinked, her entire body literally freezing as she mentally repeated his last few words. A second later, she snapped back into motion, pulling her hand away and preparing to stand. "I—"

Tony quickly reached out and took both her hands, lightly but firmly enough to stop her from walking away. "You didn't let me finish."

He took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eye. "I can't live with you knowing what happened." He didn't need to elaborate on the particular event. He knew from the fact that she remembered how long it has been since he woke up in a cold sweat, his chest heaving, fighting for every breath as he fought against the hands keeping his head submerged in a tank of water while the liquid sparked against the car battery. "That was part of my past: part of the old me, the one who didn't care about anyone or anything besides himself. But I've changed—I'm not that guy anymore. I care about _you_. And you don't need to be weighed down by my baggage. You deserve better than that."

Pepper stared at him for a long moment, her hazel eyes slowly travelling over his face, looking for even the slightest signs of deception and finding none.

"Oh Tony," she said slowly, readjusting his grip in order to interlace their fingers. "I don't necessarily agree with you but, if that's how you feel…" she ended her sentence with a shrug, knowing him well enough to understand that it was pointless to try and change his mind. "You should talk to someone though. Even if it's not me."

"Maybe someday. But for now..." Tony reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her natural beauty catching him by surprise yet again. "How in the world did I end up with someone as amazing as you?" he couldn't help but ask, the end to his previous statement completely forgotten.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just waiting for you to get me that drink," Pepper deadpanned but the effect was lessened by the lively sparkle in her eyes.

On the long list of reasons why Tony loved her, this was probably in the Top Five. She encouraged him to open up, to cope with what had happened, but knew him deeply enough to recognize when he'd reached his limit. Now, she was giving him the space he needed to deal with it on his own, all the while knowing he knew she would be there for him again, if and when he needed her. "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Probably not," she leaned over and kissed him gently. "But that's what makes you…_you_."

"You're too good to me, Pep," Tony admitted quietly.

"We both know that's not true." She stood and, because their hands were still intertwined, Tony was forced to do the same. "You should try to get some more sleep," she said, pulling him toward the bedroom.

"Pep, I don't think…"

"Whatever's haunting you, we'll handle it together. One night at a time."

She stopped briefly and turned back, allowing him to see the steely determination in her expression. "It's not up for discussion, Mr. Stark."

"As you wish, Ms. Potts," Tony responded dutifully, crawling into bed beside her. She curled up against him, so close that he was able to both hear and feel her breaths even out as sleep claimed her.

Lying there, next to the most perfect woman in the world, Tony Stark, the man who had synthesized his own element, who was a part of the Avengers, who still consulted for SHIELD every other Thursday from 11-3, who no longer had shrapnel burying towards his heart or a metal battery in his chest, realized he just might have a change at making this all work. He'd been given a second (or was it third?) chance, and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wasn't going to mess this one up.

* * *

**Special thanks to everyone who alerted, favorited, reviewed or just plain read this story! I cannot describe how wonderful all your kind notifications are. **

**I hoped you enjoyed the final chapter and would love to know your thoughts.**

**Until next time,**

**usa123**


End file.
